Hunters and the Hunted
by MisplacedHyperQuill
Summary: When past catches up with you, sometimes it's best to drop everything and run. Especially when said past can be known as the Winchesters. Back in 'reality', Sherlock receives a case that may unravel him. Can he find Molly's killer? Pairings to be decided; will be continued if the reception isn't too bad. Read and review!
1. Prologue

When the tall man with the sideburns was thrown against the wall, he slid down, slumped, unconscious immediately. The whitewashed plaster was now stained with what would be bright crimson under normal light- a circular splotch with a trail that his behind the man's slumped form. It reminded Molly of a grotesque lollipop.

Yummy.

She walked towards the man, a wicked grin plastered on her face.

"Goodnight!" she sing-sang. Her eyes roved the man's form, her grin widening when she realised who her attempted assassin was. Flexing the fist she used to hurl the man in the first place, she turned, inhaling deeply.

"Sam Winchester." She breathed with a grin "I just clocked out a Winchester. Which means there is another one." She laughed manically "_Come out, come out wherever you are_!" she called to the empty space.

Bending down, she grabbed the gun belonging to the incredibly tall man and unloaded all it's bullets before kicking them away with a heeled boot in disgust.

Silver. How…dangerous.

When she straightened, a hand clamped over her mouth, and another armed snaked around her small waist, keeping her locked. One problem with this body was that it was so. Fucking. _Small_.

"Time's up, you bitch." A voice whispered in her ear. With a strategized squirm, Molly whirled around herself around in the man's tight grasp and kneed him in his…most prized jewels.

"_Shit."_ He groaned, dropping to his knees. He swore again as his hands moved to clutch his groin. Molly giggled.

"Naw, did I hurt you _little nutters_?" she cooed.

"_Little_ my ass." Dean gritted out. Molly's grinned vanished when she felt a hand close over her ankle and pull.

With a grunt she fell to the floor, face down, and was rolled onto her back.

"Damn it, I knew I should have ended you properly." She said, mock annoyed as Sam aimed a gun to her head.

"And that's why you die tonight." There was click. And silence.

The tall man swore.

"So all that hype about the Winchester brothers are over exaggerated. How sad." She said shoving Sam off and standing up. She dusted herself of, only to have him pin her back against a wall.

She received a punch in the jaw in return.

"Would you really hit a girl, Sam?" she asked innocently, feeling a wet warmth trail down her neck.

"Shut up, you son of a-"

"Enough swearing, don't you think, Dean?" Molly cut him off "Would you _really_ hurt me though? Me? Your sweet Molly?"

The falter in his grip was enough for Molly to shove the hunter away. Her feet hit the floor and one leg lashed out and took him out from the back of his knees. He landed with a painful thud on his back. His hand reached for his pocket; his widened when his hand touched empty space.

"Looking for this?" she asked, holding out the older Winchester's gun. She cackled at his groan of frustration.

The other one was still a bit out of it from the nasty hit he'd taken to the wall. With a grin, Molly walked up to his position next to the couch and pulled a knife to his throat.

"Wait until they find out who I k-"

A sharp pain tore through her chest. Releasing the hold on the knife, she glance down. Protruding out from her ribcage, through her heart, was the unmistakable glint of a knife.

The blade pulled out of her. She heard the muffled sound of it rushing past her slowly deteriorating organs as she slumped onto her knees.

She tried to heal herself, and could thankfully feel the wounds stitching themselves up, when she was wrenched away and turned to face her assaulter.

She glared into the eyes of the person who's body she'd stolen.

"No one steals my body. Ever." The real Molly Hooper hissed, shoving her doppelganger to the floor.

The wounded creature howled in pain- a sound that certainly woke the neighbours. With one last ounce of effort, Molly shoved the knife back into the shapeshifter.

She let the blade stay in there, even after the monster stopped it's final spasms. Panting, Molly pulled her hair away from her face and tied it up into a loose bun- she winced, realising her hands were bloody with what was technically her own blood.

"What the hell-" slurred Dean, recovering from his fall. He stood up, groaning, clutching his back. "Sammy-" he gritted out, limping to his brother. Molly joined him, gently helping the stirring man to his feet.

"How's the head?" she said, trying to inspect the wound. Giving up, she walked around them and stood on the couch. She prodded the cut slightly and heard him gasp in pain "It's not that deep." She concluded, "Let me get you some bandages and I'll fix you up."

"No," he answered, "you can't. You need to leave."

"But-"

"Sammy's right. I'm sorry, but you know you can't escape our lifestyle."

"I am _not_ a hunter anymore." Molly hissed. Dean let out an impatient sigh.

"This is not the time for this. Right now, you need to get the hell out of here." As if through some divine intervention, police sirens rang out from below. Dean raised an eyebrow at Molly, who sprinted to her bedroom.

She ran out seconds later, a bag holding necessary clothing, items, and (God-help-her) weapons slung over a shoulder.

"I am guessing I was killed." She stated, glancing to her body on the floor.

"It's the best way to restart." Sam offered a reassuring smile.

"And you two-"

"-will be knocked out an conscious. Our egos will survive this one hit for you." Dean joked. Molly chuckled despite the circumstances.

"They will bring in Sherlock, the man from that day- remember: the best way to cheat past this is to tell as much of the truth as possible."

"Go Molly, we have this covered. Take some valuables to make it look like a robbery." Sam pressed.

"Already done." Moly answered, rattling her bag. Sher nodded, and climbed out the window and onto the fire escape.

Glancing one last time at her apartment, Molly bit back a surprise sob.

Molly Hooper had the normal life she wanted for five years. Now, she had to accept that the hunter's life had caught up with her, finally.

It was time to say goodbye.

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

When the tolerable chime of his ringtone sounded, Sherlock had literally jumped with glee (after placing his violin back down in its case gently)- _finally_ a case. Three weeks of boredom was unbearable- on him _and _his roommate.

John had padded in, yawning, the absence of the shrill violin concerning him.

"Sherlock? What-" the blonde was shushed by a long-fingered hand in front of his face waving him away. With a grumble, John sat himself on the sofa.

"Repeat that again." The doctor looked up in concern. Sherlock never needed things to be repeated. He mimed at the detective to give him clues as to what was going on. Once again, he received a waving hand in his direction.

"Has anyone touched her?" This time, John could here a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Has. Anybody. _Touched_. Her. Yet?" the doctor heard muffle replies.

"Good. Leave it clean. I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't touch _anything_; keep everyone _away._ Understand? Good." With that, the tall man hung up.

There was a pause as Sherlock fingered the phone in his palm. Then, he hastily pocketed it and turned to face John, face impassive.

"Get ready." Sherlock muttered, striding over the coffee table and heading for his coat.  
"Is it a case?"

"Yes." Came the curt reply. John frowned. No snarky comments? What was going on? He threw on a jumper and worn jeans before pocketing his gun in it's holster.

"Hurry up, John!" the man yelled impatiently.

"Sherlock, what is wrong with you?"

There was silence as the two men jogged down the stairs.

"Sherlock!" the brunette whirled on him, eyes glittering. John stepped back in surprise and intimidation.

"Molly Hooper-" John's eyes widened "-has been murdered."

…

Dean sat on a kitchen stool next to Sammy as his younger brother clutched the ice to the back of his head.  
"How's the head?"

"Fine." Came the reply. The older hunter let out a sigh and glanced at the investigation carried out in the room. Or the lack thereof.

"I love how fast they work." He muttered sarcastically.

"They're not allowed to. I heard one of them talking- apparently that Sherlock Holmes gets the first look."

"That the prissy posh ass from that day?" Sam nodded. "Molly sure made some weird friends." Dean commented.

Minutes later, the man billowed in with that annoying coat of his. The shorter man he was with the other day followed.

"How much you wanna bet those two are gay for each other."

"Not the time, Dean.  
"You're no fun."

"Stabbed twice by some type of blade. By the thickness and length, it was probably a kitchen knife. It was probably a weapon the killer picked up on her way."

"Her?" the pointy nosed man sneered.

"That's the guy I got the info from." Sam pointed out. Dean chuckled.

"They're either annoying, or ugly and annoying. What's wrong with that nose?"

"Yes, Anderson, her. Now shut up before babies start to cry. The cut," Sherlock continued "was done by a professional- someone who knew her way around a blade and who could stomach taking another life."

"I have to admit, he's pretty damn good." Sam said.  
"Still a prissy ass."

"I never said he wasn't."

The two brothers watched the man as he flitted in and out of the room. He walked up to the head detective who'd spoken to them earlier and exchanged words before walking up to Sam and Dean.

"Go time." Dean whispered.

"You two were Molly's cousins." The man drawled.  
"We are." Sam nodded. "I'm Sam, that's Dean."

"Last names?"

"Williams. Our mother's were cousins."

"You are quite distantly related and Molly never kept much contact with any family members." Dean's eyes narrowed. This guy was just trying to catch them on a lie.

"We are." He cut in, ignoring Sam's look. "We used to hang out all the time- back when she lived back home with us. When she moved, she came back for holidays but those stopped once her mother passed, but we felt it was time to meet up again, so we called and she said okay- so we came."

"Don't lie." Damn it. Molly was right. Truth was the only way to go.  
"Sorry." Sam answered, "Everything is true, except why we're here. We had some business to deal with and we realised Molly was in the area, so we dropped in."

"What does this have to do with anything?" Dean asked, annoyed.

"Necessary precautions."

"Are you even a _part_ of the police?"

"More than you." Came the curt remark. It took every ounce of Dean's power not to punch the man to next fucking Tuesday.

"Sherlock, shut up." Dean glanced down. The blonde man had joined them "Sorry- he doesn't know how to treat people properly." He continued, glaring at Sherlock.

"You were thrown against the wall." Sherlock stated, looking to Sam.

"Yeah, quite hard." Sam agreed.

"And you," he said turning back to Dean "said that your attacker was quite short."

"Yeah, about ye high." Dean said, indicating to his chest "But she was in heels, so it came up to his high." He amended, raising his palm to under his chin.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Oh, how nice it would be to shave that thing of. How posh would he look then?

"So you are saying that a woman, basically Molly's height and build, based on your statement, managed to throw someone as tall as you to against a wall _that_ hard, and knock you out with a few punches?" he said, looking at each brother.

Sam and Dean exchanged glances.

"We're just telling you what we saw, officer." Sam said tiredly "We aren't lying."  
"At all." Dean added. "We just want you to find her killer."

Sherlock glared one last time at the two before stalking away.

"I apologise, again, for Sherlock." the small man muttered before taking of after his boyfriend.

…

"You just said they weren't lying." Lestrade answered, rubbing a hand over his face.  
"They weren't. But the facts do not match up. They are hiding something." Lestrade looked to Sherlock.

"What could they possibly be hiding? I spoke to the two a few days ago- they're perfectly all right. Harmless. They didn't kill Molly."

"They didn't." Sherlock agreed, reluctantly "But they are hiding something. I want to look at her body."

"Sherlock-"

"One more time. I need to be sure I have all the facts."

"Sher-"

"DO you want the killer caught, or not?" Sherlock seethed, before stalking away.

"I never realised he could get so…"  
"There was always something he had for Molly. It's just sad that it took this to make him realise." John answered. "I'm going to miss her."

"So will we all."

Sherlock moved around the body, trying to shove aside the odd tugging in his chest everytime he lay his eyes on those stab wounds, her bruised pale arms and that bright halo of auburn that framed her soft, round face.

He lied, and it unnerved him. Not the fact that he lied- it was the lie itself.

All the facts he needed from her body was collected and stored. He just wasn't ready to let her go.

Interesting.

His fingers hovered over her now blank, dark eyes. He remembered when they used to crinkle in the corners from excess smiling. With a sharp inhale, he closed their lids with two nimble fingers.

Now she looked asleep. By looking at her face, one would think just that, save for the dark trickle of dried blood from the corner of her mouth. The bastard who killed her had beat her as well.

Forcing himself to look away stand up, Sherlock looked to the two brothers seated by the kitchen. The tall one was having his head bandaged, The annoying one caught his glare and returned it with on of his own. Noticing, his brother slapped his arm and forced him to avert his eyes.

Those two were hiding something very important and Sherlock knew it had something to do with their 'cousin's' death (if that was who she truly was to them). God help those two when he found out what that secret was.

Sherlock joined John and the two took a silent cab ride home.

**The weight of waiting for Sherlock and Supernatural to release their new seasons has taken it's toll. This little plot angel/demon has been scratching at the back of my head for ages and won't let me concentrate on much else.**

**However, I really do hope it comes of well, because if it does there _are_ a few ideas I have to continue this story.**

**A review would be certainly very nice. Really- even if it is the worst flame imaginable. **

**Thank you lovely reader who has read this,**

**-Ash :)**


	2. The Voices in her Head

**IMPORTANT A/N: PLEASE READ THIS! My other story: Double Lives, while it has the same prologue as this, has a different plot, so if you've decided to read this story only, please give DL a shot as well! Thanks :) Now on with the story:**

_The Winchesters have moved._

_Is the vessel safe?_

_Currently, yes._

_The vessel is safe. The vessel is safe. The vessel is safe._

_THE VESSEL IS SAFE._

Molly woke with a gasp, her body dripping with cold sweat. Her eyes looked to both figures asleep on their specific beds, neither showing any signs of knowing she was awake.

Burying her face in her hands, Molly did her best to keep her tears at bay.

…

"It's been happening again."

Mycroft folded his arms over his desk and looked to Anthea. The PA nodded before walking to a cabinet and retrieving two crystal glasses and a bottle of bronze liquor.

"Have one yourself, Anthea." Mycroft murmured as he took his drink from the woman.  
"Thank you, sir."

Molly sipped her drink.

"This would be the second time?"

"This month, yes." She sighed "Do you have any answers yet?"

"Unfortunately, no. Molly, I believe it is best for you to leave the country- keep an eye on the Winchester."

"But-"

"You know it is the right choice: you need to free yourself for a little while- get back into the game. Besides, you are dead- and with you 'murderer' confessing, well, Sherlock-"

"Of course."

"I want you to call whenever any…heavenly interventions occur, understood?"

"Of course, Mycroft."

"I will do likewise if there are any developments here." Molly nodded in agreement before standing up and making her way to the door.

She hesitated before turning back around.

"Mycroft, can you- can I be informed if anything happens to Sh-" Molly paused.

"Of course, Molly- you needn't worry about mundane matters such as that."

"Thank you." Molly said "For everything."

The former pathologist left silently without a glance back.

Mycroft sighed, downing the remains of his drink.

"Come along, Anthea." He said, getting up "We have a funeral to attend."

….

Molly Hooper's funeral was a depressingly small affair. There were no relatives there to attend (they were either dead or halfway around the world) and only a handful of friends.

Still, it surprised Sherlock that there he didn't recognise anyone there other than Lestrade, John, Mrs Hudson, Stamford, Mycroft and his PA.

Wait, Mycroft?

"What are _you_ doing here?" he hissed as his brother strolled up to him.

"So nice to see you too, dear brother." Mycroft answered "I am here to pay my respects, and ensure you haven't rolled yourself of the deep end just yet." Sherlock opened his mouth to utter a snide remark when someone beat him too it.

"Mr Holmes! I am sorry to interrupt, and I know this is highly inappropriate, but the life's the life, eh? I may need a little smidgen of advice." Mycroft moved aside to reveal a tall, skinny, unkempt ginger male.

"Mr Ross- now really isn't a good time." The British Government answered hastily.

"Naw, come on, boss- it is actually quite serious. Another win-"

"Mr Holmes, Mr Ross- it's such a tragedy." An average-heighted blonde woman appeared next to them, tears drawing streaks with her mascara down her cheeks. Still, with her bright hazel eyes and full lips, it was obvious to see she was very pretty.

She was also a very good liar.

"Mary- what're you-"

"Mr Ross, I-I may need some help. Please, follow me." she said before dragging the skinny man away.

"What was that about?" John asked, baffled.

"Mr Ross and Ms Morstan work for me."

"Mr Ross is an unkempt, unemployed man living in his broken down pick-up. Ms Morstan is a doctor. Enough lies, Mycroft." Sherlock seethed. His brother's eyes narrowed.  
"If you must know, Mr Ross is an agent of mine who played Molly's friend as I wanted to keep tabs on anyone close to you. Over the years he actually did forge himself a platonic relationship with the late Dr Hooper. Ms Morstan- well, that is classified."

Sherlock snarled, eyes flashing.

"You are keeping something from me. Tell me now, or-"

"Break it up, you two. Save it for when we aren't at a funeral, mourning a friend's _death_. For God's sakes." John cried exasperated.

"Indeed." Mycroft answered before turning around and walking away.

Sherlock glared at his brother's back.

"Sherlock, come on-"

"He said her name."

"What?"

"Mycroft- he said her _name_. Molly. He _said_ it." John sighed.

"What exactly are you getting at?"

"Mycroft never refers to anyone by their first name unless he knows them well enough personally. I've seen no such interaction between the two." John's eyes widened in realisation.  
"So-"

"Exactly. How did Mycroft know Molly so well, and more importantly: _why_?"

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

The ex-pathologist cradled her head in her hands, her fingers fisting painfully at her scalp as she sat at the foot of her bed. She winced at the crash of the front door as it swung open.

"We're back." The older Winchester announced. Sam entered first, though, and immediately realised Molly's discomfort.

"What's wrong?" Dean's question was more of a statement when he saw her himself. Sam looked between Molly and his brother a frown on his face.

"T-There is something you should know…about me."

She heard the mattress of the bed across her groan as it sank under Dean's weight.

"Hey, what's wrong? He asked non-too-gently. Molly exhaled, her eyes flitting around the room. Her gaze stopped on Sam who was leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. He looked almost uncaring and casual, until you reached the hardness in his eyes and the tight set of his lips and jaw. Biting the inside of her lip uncomfortably, Molly trained her sight back on Dean.

"I know where you've been." Molly started "Up until September, at least."

The reaction was immediate: Dean inhaled sharply and stilled, his body tense and rigid as he clenched his jaw. Sam pushed himself away from his post, mouth hanging open slightly as he blinked in shock.

"I'm sorry, _what_?" the tall man asked as he strode forward "What do you-"

"I know you were in h-" Molly looked down "I know you were rescued from the basement." The older Winchester let out strangled sound as he tried to form words.

"Angels." Molly said "I hear them," she continued hastily, seeing the looks on their faces "in my head, I mean. I hear their conversations- what they talk about, and right now, most of it is about the Winchesters- namely you, Dean." The hunter in question closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"When did these…um…sessions start?" Sam asked, moving to sit next to his brother.

"September 18th." Molly answered immediately. Dean's head snapped up; he shared a look with his brother.

"That's-"

"When you were brought back up. _Dean Winchester is saved_- that was the first time I heard them." Molly let out a high-pitched laughed "Almost fell off my stool at work."

Dean looked anywhere but at her before getting up and walking away. Molly caught Sam's look (glare?) as he followed his brother.

Hearing the two brothers arguing quietly in the corner, the ex-pathologist groaned to herself. She couldn't hear a word, but it was pretty damn obvious what all the fuss was about.

Sam didn't trust her, from the start. She didn't blame him- the lack of details she'd supplied was indeed quite shady.

"I don't _care_- "

"What do you mean-"

"I've known her a _long_ time. She was my partner when you were pep-rallying at fucking _Stanford_."

There was a long pause.

This wasn't supposed to happen. Molly would not come in the way of the siblings- _she _was the third wheel, not Sam.

"Look," she said, startling the men "I don't want to cause anymore trouble. I will just leave- I'll call if there is anything on Angel FM to feedback."

"No, wait," Dean said, stopping her exit "We just- why didn't you tell us sooner?"

Molly instantly flared with anger.

"Why do you _think_? Up until a few months ago, angels didn't _exist_ in my books." She hissed "Why in the world would I want to tell you something that would make you want to drop me off at the next damn asylum?"

"You know, there was a time when you didn't keep _important_ things from me." Molly's eyes softened when she saw the hurt flash through Dean's eyes.

"I was going to tell you." She heard Sam scoff in the background "You don't have to believe me, but it is the truth. Besides, today was the first time I began hearing anything since the past couple of weeks." She sighed "I thought- I thought it was all over."

Dean's grip softened before leaving her arm altogether.

"I _am_ sorry." Molly fixed her gaze onto Sam's "I get that you don't trust me- but please, no one else knows about this other than a close colleague, and he's been helping me look into finding any answers about my…condition."

"Well, there's going to be one more who gets to know." Dean said stoically before Sam could answer.

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

After yelling at Ross about being discreet and other things, Mary stood outside in the shade, stubbing out her cigarette with her heel. She hated stilettos with every fibre of her being, but keeping up appearances was….well, keeping up appearances.

"Hi, you're Mary, right?" Looking up, the hunter met the gaze of an older blonde man. _John_, Mary thought instantly, thinking about the stories her partner used to tell her about the 'normal' life. Still, she faked ignorance.

"Sorry," she sniffed "but, do I- have we met?" John seemed taken aback.

"Oh, er, yes- kind off. You pulled away that man talking to my friend's brother?" Mary widened her eyes for the added effect.

"Oh, yes- you're the doctor friend of Sherlock Holmes. I read your blog." Mary had never visited that web-page, ever, but Molly'd filled her in with everything she needed to know over the years.

John smiled, chuckling nervously.

"Yeah- uh, I'm sorry for your loss, by the way." Mary gritted her teeth. John sounded genuinely broken up over Molly's 'death'.

"Of course, thanks- but she was your friend too. I just wish I spent more time with her before she-" Mary broke off with a sniff "-it was just our work shcedules and timing and all that nonsense."

There was a beat of silence before a buzz sounded. John clamped his hand over his thigh before removing his phone from his pocket. He sighed, frowning and muttering.

"I'm sorry- that's my cue. Sherlock isn't very good with funerals." Mary smiled.

"Of course, go ahead. See you around, John." Mary walked away, not glancing back.

So _that_ was John. Nice bloke- fit too, Mary sighed- sometimes being a hunter got in the way of everything fun.

…

Sherlock Holmes glared at the retreating figure of that woman.

"Her name is Mary, Sherlock, and there is nothing wrong with her!"

"There is." He answered simply.

"She's mourning the death of her friend- what more could you want, Sherlock?"

"This morning her face was streaked horribly with mascara-tears. Now they are gone. Why?"

"Because she is a woman and doesn't want to look like a raccoon."

"If a woman is grieving the lost of an oh-so-close friend, self grooming isn't a top priority."

John groaned, frustrated.

"Sherlock, why do you even _care_?"

The detective met his blogger's eyes for the first time. He was surprised- actually surprised.

"What do you mean by _that_?" John laughed sarcastically.

"I know you know this, but Molly is _dead_, Sherlock- and she's not coming back." the blue-eyed man's eyes narrowed.

"I think I know that-"

"No you don't. I'm not sure if this is your way of coping or whatever, but trying to make a case out of this? Suspecting _everyone_- I mean, what would your brother want with Molly? Sherlock, you need to tone it down. If not for yourself, for her." Sherlock glared at John.

"How sentiment-"

"You and I both know that's what she would've wanted."

As John walked away, Sherlock shoved his hands into his Belstaff pockets, inhaling sharply. Was John right? Should he just…let her go? Was it best to find her killer, put him away and leave it and move on?

Sherlock felt something in his gut- something he rarely felt: doubt.

Sherlock Holmes was beginning to doubt himself.

_o_0_o_

.

_o_0_o_

Molly clutched the small booklet in her hand.

Amelia Lewis. American. Age: 33. D.O.B: 15th March 1980.

This was her new identity. Well, it was the information on her new passport anyway.

Funny that her name was _Amelia_- it was as if Mycroft had gained some sentiment. At least she'd still be able to call herself Molly.

"Cas! It would be _great_ if you showed up now!" Dean yelled to the ceiling.

Under normal circumstances, Molly would be laughing, but seeing as the older Winchester was currently quite angry at her and the younger distrusting her even more than usual made her keep quiet.

"He may be busy doing other…angel things." Sam offered. Dean huffed.

"I don't care."

"We could always take a plane, you know." Molly said quietly.

Dean regarded her.

"We're not going anywhere until we sort this out." Sam said firmly. Molly let out a breath.

"It's not like I'm going to stab you." She retorted "I'm still on your side."

."

"I still don't get why you decided not to tell me." Molly looked to the green-eyed man.

"I've already told you." She answered tiredly.

"That isn't good-"  
"I thought there was something wrong with me! I didn't think it was possible to be even brought _back_ from hell- I didn't know you were even _sent_ there, Dean." She yelled, stopping when she saw the older hunter flinch. "When it stopped, I was certain it was just my head being retarded," she restarted, softer "but when it started up again a few weeks ago, I was scared."

The brothers eyed her wordlessly.

"And then you two showed up at my workplace- ex-workplace- and it frightened me even more. After that, came what happened and just like that-" she continued, with a snap of her fingers "-I was throwing my non-hunting life away. You would think I'd have other things on my mind."

Sam's jaw unclenched; Dean's gaze lowered. At least she was getting to them, somewhat.

"I swear I was going to tell you. Once we were away from here." She finished.

Moments later, Dean opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by a rush of wind in the room. Sam and Dean walked forward.

Confused, Moly turned around to have her nose smacked into a dark tie.

"_Shit_." She exclaimed in surprise as she stumbled back, hand over her chest.

A blue eyed man stood in front of her, dressed in a smart suit and large brown trench coat, but behind that, Molly saw who he truly was.

"Holy_ shit_."

**Okay, yes- I know what you are thinking, but no- I am not giving Ana's character to Molly. Molly gets her own story. Will ****Ana be in this fic? I'm not sure yet, but she will not be Molly. That much is certain :)**

**Btw, I want to know what pairings and other characters you would like to see. I have brief outlines, but I'm still deciding with the pairings. Any suggestions would help :D**

**Review what you think?**

**-Ash :)**


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